


i'm not putting on fucking usher

by astrogyaru



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Earth C (Homestuck), Fluff and Smut, M/M, Morning Sex, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Trans Karkat Vantas, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9792290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrogyaru/pseuds/astrogyaru
Summary: “I’m just sayin’, it’s still Valentine’s Day, we could maybe see a movie or something.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> im two days late with this but please enjoy :''o

You wake up to the morning light streaming through the panes of your bedroom window, an unusual sight for your insomniac eyes. It takes a moment for your brain to process where and when you are, and suddenly you remember the night before. Dave coaxed you into bed when you found yourself suddenly wrenched of your remaining spoons after a long day of micromanaging the Troll Kingdom, the bases of your thumbs ground into your eyes as you became frustrated to the point of nearly crying.

You don’t really remember what it was that finally broke you, but it probably had something to do with your chronic lack of sleep and the migraine that started up sometime after dinner. Regardless, you figure that you must’ve fallen asleep around ten thirty, and if you had to guess, you’d say it’s about eight in the morning.

Karkats (and Daves, for that matter) who fall asleep and wake up that early are, in your opinion, honest-to-god fucking cryptids.

Despite the uncertainty of your own existence, you are pretty comfortable right now. Your bed has only become more crowded with blankets as the winter months dragged on, and you can feel the heat of Dave’s body where he’s snuggled up next to you. You shift closer to him, and he stirs, letting out a sleepy sigh through his nose and running a hand along your waist.

“Hey,” he murmurs, looking you over with sleep still in his eyes.

“Hey,” you say back, and his hand wanders to your thigh then, thumbing at the hem of your black boxer-briefs.

You sigh and move closer to him, planting a soft kiss on his jaw. As much as you would like to, having sloppy makeouts first thing in the morning is never a good idea. So you settle with pressing a few chaste kisses to his lips and then moving down to his neck, and. Okay.

You belatedly recall that the list of things that made the week leading up to last night so terrible definitely included a building sense of sexual frustration. Not that it’s been an especially long time since you’ve had sex, you’re just cursed with an annoyingly high sex drive, probably.

His hand moves down your thigh, then back up to give your ass a squeeze. You press your mouth to his again and run your hands through his hair, soft, just like his hands. He pulls you closer as he leans back, hand guiding your leg over his own, and you gasp as his thigh presses into your crotch.

You push yourself up on your elbow so you’re hovering over his face as you roll your hips against him, grinning at the breathy laugh you get in turn.

“Horny much?” he says, and you just roll your eyes as you move to straddle him more properly.

You take a minute to just look him over. At the way the sunlight lights up his hair, the way everything is tinged slightly pink from the season-appropriate curtains you hung up earlier in the month. At the soft flush in his cheeks, how his mouth hangs open slightly, the bright red of his eyes as he watches you. And you take a minute to marvel at how comfortable this feels, how familiar this is.

“What?” he says, smile playing on his lips.

“I was just thinking about when we were sixteen.” He shifts under you and you resist the urge to groan, the heat pooling up in your groin almost unbearable.

“Oh yeah?” he says, and moves again. You’re pretty sure it’s intentional.

“Like, how we used to be so nervous about touching each other,” you gasp as he rolls his hips again. “And now it’s so normal and feels so natural to--”

“Hop up on my dick?”

“I was _going_ to say make love,” you huff, trying not to smile.

“No offense babe, but talking about us being awkward teens ain’t exactly dirty talk. Don’t act like I was the one who ruined the moment.”

“Okay,” you laugh, throwing your hands up in fake indignation. “What would you rather do to set the mood?”

“We could put on some Usher?” he shrugs.

“I’m not putting on fucking Usher,” you say, leaning down to kiss him before he can make another quip. You grind your hips down as payback and relish in the gasping sound he makes.

His hands go to your hips then, steady and warm. You run your hands down his chest, then up under his shirt, then back down again to settle at the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Can I?” you ask softly, and he gives a short nod.

You curl your fingers under the elastic and pull both his sweats and underwear down in one smooth motion, just far enough to provide the needed movement. His dick is mostly hard and falls back against his stomach, and you feel your nook twitch when you take it into your hands to give it a few stokes.

With ungraceful movements, you pull down your own underwear, laughing with Dave when he has to help you get them unhooked from your ankles. The air is cold against your bare skin, but Dave’s hands are warm as they guide you back into his lap. And then up further. You feel your entire lower half throb when you realize he’s trying to bring your crotch closer to where his mouth is.

An embarrassing yelp escapes your lips when he leans forward to press his tongue onto your small bulge, and you swear you hear him laugh through his nose as he puts his mouth over it, swirling his tongue in a maddening way over your sensitive nub. 

“Fuck,” you groan, your breath catching in your throat. His tongue is so hot and wet, every movement setting off sparks in your nervous system. He licks and sucks your bulge, coaxing all kinds of mortifying noises out of your mouth, high and loud, keening and panting, insectoid chirps interspersed with vocal moans. Your hips move on their own and Dave gropes and rubs at your thighs and ass, and you really probably should pull away before you tumble forward into a too-early climax.

But Dave sucks harder on your bulge, and then he _moans_ , and you can’t stop yourself from gripping his shoulders tight and riding out your orgasm then and there, the only thought in your head being that Dave was getting turned on from doing this to you. Hips twitching, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut, Dave pulling you closer until you still, letting out a shaky sigh as all the tension rushes out of you all at once.

You pull away and sit back down on his chest, panting heavily but with a light feeling in your head. You’re pretty sure you have a doofy smile on your face, but it’s kind of hard to care.

“You still with me?” Dave asks softly, and it takes you a minute to realize your eyes are still closed. You flutter them open and see him looking up at you, face flushed and lips swollen.

“Sorry,” you sigh. “Give me a minute, I’m still--” you pry yourself off him and roll over to lie back on the bed. “Come here.”

He moves to settle between your legs, and you notice that his dick is still out and hard. You pull him forward by the hips until they’re touching the back of your thighs, and every bit of him that touches you is so soft and heated, you already feel yourself getting worked up again.

You don’t waste any time grabbing his dick and lining it up with the entrance of your nook; you’re embarrassingly wet, but it’s still a tight fit, and you probably should’ve let him stretch you out with his fingers. But when you finally feel him pressing into you your body goes tingly all over and you let out a long, low moan, tensing and curling your toes in the sheets.

You watch his face as he fills you up, brows knitted tight together as his eyes flutter closed, his lips parted as he gasps, making a high, breathy sound that makes you throb. He’s so hot and so hard inside of you that you practically short-circuit, mind condensed only to how good this feels and how good Dave is.

“You okay?” he murmurs, leaning over you and pushing in deeper.

You nod, words having failed you at this point. Dave starts moving his hips then, slowly, sliding in and out of your slick nook at a frustrating pace. But you know he likes to go slow, to tease you, even, when he’s the one that’s topping. You wrap your arms around his back and move your hips with him, trying to encourage him to go faster without having to resort to begging. You’re not quite at that point yet, thank you very much.

He settles in closer to you, tucking his head in the crook above your shoulder and breathing against your neck. You run your hands down his back as he moves faster, going up under his shirt that’s ridden up over his soft belly. And when he picks up the pace, you’re just fucking gone. You throw your head back against the pillows, gasping when he presses in and crying out when he pulls back. You keep your hands steady on his back as he moves, feeling the muscles tense under his skin.

He’s crying out, too, moaning your name and mumbling something about how fucking wet you are. He leans back so he’s upright again, hands grasping at your hips and pulling them up as he fucks you. You push yourself up on your elbows, out of some need to be closer to him, you don’t know, or maybe to get a better look up at his face. Something about watching his expression during sex always gets to you, his brows turned up, jaw slack, blush high on his cheeks and sweat beading on his forehead. There’s a brief moment of eye contact between you two before he moves his hips just right, and you throw your head back again.

He’s so good, and you’re so sensitive, you can already feel another orgasm starting to build up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he leans over you again, kissing you sloppily on the mouth. You don’t even fucking care about morning breath at this point, so you kiss him back, panting heavily, and he breaks the kiss to call out your name.

You’re both being so fucking loud right now that you can’t help but take a second to be thankful that you have your own goddamn hive to do this in.

Still, that doesn’t mean that there’s never been a time where you’ve been fucking loudly, only to hear the mortifying sound of Jade slamming the front door shut, presumably to go back to her own hive where she doesn’t have to listen to her moirails having sex.

(You’d been so embarrassed that you couldn’t even finish after that, nor could you look Jade in the eyes for three weeks.)

Dave has his face buried in the crook of your neck again, driving you into the bed in a way that isn’t exactly consistent, but feels really fucking good nonetheless. You wrap your arms around his neck and twist your hands in his silky soft hair, and then you both get quieter, the intensity of your building orgasms no longer making you cry out but instead leaving you gasping and panting desperately as you cling to each other.

You reach one hand down between you to rub your bulge, hard and dripping and having extended its full two inches. Not exactly impressive, but still, bigger now than before starting your gonadal signal molecule replacement remedy a few years ago, and a hell of a lot more sensitive. You rut up against your hand as Dave fucks you, getting closer and closer with each thrust.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Dave moans, “I’m gonna come.” And god, his voice is like a string pulled taut. A low, insectoid noise is drawn out from your chest and he sobs out a breathy moan above you. You paw at his back, trying desperately to bring him even closer as he rides out his orgasm, and cling to the thought that he’s currently shooting his fucking genetic fluid _inside_ of you as you come for the second time this morning, waves of pleasure hitting you so hard that you can’t breathe for a few seconds.

Dave pushes himself up off of you and pulls out, slowly and lazily, panting heavily as he flops backwards onto the bed.

You pant in silence for a few minutes, before letting out a soft laugh, and you hear him laugh in turn.

“What are you doing down there?” you ask, making a pathetic attempt at detangling your legs from his. He still has his sweatpants pooled up around his ankles.

“Dude, I’m just fuckin’ chilling,” he tells you, still out of breath. There’s a beat of silence before you sit up to look at him.

He’s lying splayed out on the end of the bed, face so utterly blissed out that you can’t help but smile.

“Your dick’s still out,” you tell him.

“Dicks out for Karkat,” he mumbles, making no attempt to remedy his situation.

You lay back down on the bed for a few more minutes, to gather yourself, before finding your discarded underwear in the sheets and heading for the adjacent bathroom.

“I’m gonna shower,” you tell him from the doorway, watching as he kicks off his sweats and only just pulls his underwear back on.

“Cool, mind if I join you?” he asks. “Or would you rather I go get started on wrangling the coffee pot into submission?”

You lean against the door frame and open the door wider as an invitation, and he pushes himself off the bed and follows you inside.

After the shower you brush your teeth and quickly get dressed, wearing your usual black jeans but instead opting for a white pullover this time, your symbol colored in the bright red of your blood. A gesture that still feels too bold, too dangerous, even after all these years. But lately you’ve been trying to get over all of that, as impossible as it seems at times.

Dave wears his heart tee with a pink long sleeved shirt underneath it, and goddamn, do you two look like a couple of festive assholes.

You head downstairs and start making coffee as Dave rummages through the pantry to find something to make for breakfast. It’s awfully fucking cluttered and full of more food than you two reasonably need to own, but you try not to complain about it, because it’s better than not having any food at all.

Dave settles on making pancakes, mixing up the batter in two separate bowls. One is left plain, while the other has dried grub bits mixed in, which he makes sure to loudly complain about. Whatever. You need your fucking protein, okay?

While Dave cooks, you pour yourself a cup of coffee and sort through your sylladex. There’s already a large bouquet of red and pale pink roses on the counter, but Jade’s bouquet of pink, white, and lavender flowers is still safely captchalogued. You take out a large diamond shaped box of chocolates (white, because you don’t want to fucking poison her, plus it adds to the pale factor) and set it down on the counter. You have chocolates for Dave, too, but you decide to wait until later to give them to him.

You look over at Dave and see him pointing his phone at the frying pan as he cooks, and on closer inspection, you see that he’s made a dick out of the batter.

“Are you snapchatting yourself making a pancake dick?”

He laughs, and in a couple seconds you hear his phone play your own voice back to you as snapchat loops through the video.

“Fucking dork.”

After breakfast you walk over to Jade’s hive, asking Dave over and over if the flowers are something that she’d appreciate (they are) and if she even likes white chocolate (she does). You’re obviously a lot more nervous than him when you knock on her door, but you chalk it up to cultural differences rather than your general anxiety disorder, even if it’s the more likely culprit.

You’re just about to knock on the door again when it swings open, revealing a smiling Jade behind it.

“Hey guys!” she says, and even just looking at her you feel some of your worries melt away. She holds the door open and gestures for you to come in.

And inside her house is, uh. A hell of a lot of bright red roses. Bouquets of them in glass vases on the floor, hanging singularly from the ceiling by their long stems, and crowding her main work table so much you can barely see the surface of it.

“You do some weird furry magic on your plants again?” Dave asks as he steps inside.

Part of you feels inclined to take your shoes off and nag Dave until he does too, just like whenever you visit any of your other friend’s houses. But Jade’s living space has always been sort of a giant greenhouse, and with all the potted plants and loose soil in what is supposed to be her living room, there really isn’t a fucking point anymore.

“I didn’t grow these! Well, not all of them,” she says, stepping over a vase. “Someone sent them to me…”

You raise your brow at her. “Who?”

She crosses her arms nervously and starts to say something, but Dave interrupts.

“Yo, dude, is that really any of our business? We came here to solicit Jade pale-ways, not interrogate her on whoever’s asshole she plans on shoving all these roses inside of.”

“Why are you like this, Dave?” she pleads.

“Oh, right,” you say, ignoring this terrible conversation tangent to remember the flowers instead. “We got these for you.” You hand over the bouquet and box of chocolates.

“Aww, thank you guys,” she says, taking them from you and pulling you both into a cluttered hug. “I don’t have anything to give you right now, but…”

She pulls away, popping another vase out of her sylladex and placing the flowers inside. “I did get us some tickets to the planetarium tomorrow, if that’s something you think would be fun.”

“That sounds fuckin’ awesome,” Dave says, and she smiles so big that you feel like someone just stepped on your anguish bladder.

You’re startled out of the moment by someone rapping on the door. The lazy, claw-heavy sound of it almost makes you think it’s-- no, why would she be here?

Sure enough, when Jade opens the door, Terezi is standing on the other side of it. Facing slightly away, as is her wont.

“Well if it isn’t the lost queen of the Troll Kingdom, here to grace us with her fucking presence.”

“Good to see you too, crabcakes,” she says, flashing you her sharp teeth.

“Um, do you want to come in?” Jade stammers, holding the door open for her.

Terezi steps through the threshold, hands shoved deep in her pockets and dragging her terrible dragon-croc shoes behind her.

“Smells good in here,” she says, tilting her nose up.

“Smells like a goddamn perfume factory,” Dave says, and the way his repressed southern accent hangs onto the word ‘perfume’ is grotesquely endearing to you.

“Yeah, maybe I overdid it,” she says, plucking a rose from one of the vases and giving it an experimental lick.

“I think they’re really nice,” Jade interjects, and your facial expressions do some impressive acrobatics as you finally process what’s going on here.

“Wait, _you’re_ the one who sent Jade a fucking bulk cargo shipment of red roses? The same flower? No variety? Do you know what a fucking dozen is? Do you know how to count, Terezi?”

Dave stands in between you two before you can get too worked up. “What Karkat meant was, we were just going.” He starts guiding you to the door. “Have fun on your date, y’all are cute.”

You grumble to yourself as you step back outside, Dave following close behind and shutting the door. “I cannot fucking BELIEVE--”

“So what do you wanna do now?” Dave asks, cutting you off.

“The fucking AUDACITY, not to say how fucking impractical--”

“I’m just sayin’, it’s still Valentine’s Day, we could maybe see a movie or something.”

You take in a deep breath and hold it, squeezing your eyes shut as your anger starts to boil over. You don’t even know why you’re mad, you just fucking are.

“And it’s early, too, we could get in on that sweet matinee like a couple of greasy teens playing hooky.”

You exhale in one loud noise, and he just sort of looks at you.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go to the movies.”

You let Dave fly you into town, to one of the shopping centers sort of out of the way, where you’re less likely to get a lot of attention. He picks you up bridal style, soaring high up into the air as he gets his bearings.

The most fucked up thing about this situation is not that your boyfriend is an alien god figure that can fly, nor is it the embarrassing way he prefers to carry you. But that you’re fucking used to this shit. That this is your most commonly used mode of transportation.

Dave touches down before you can create too much of a scene by the theater. This one in particular is one of your favorites, never too crowded and with decent shows playing at any given time. It’s tucked away in an outdoor shopping mall, and as you and Dave navigate your way past storefronts and stray vendors, he carefully slips his hand into yours.

Given how many years (years! when did you stop using those instead of sweeps?) you’ve been alive, you’d think that something as simple as hand-holding in public wouldn’t get your blood pusher pounding. But Dave’s hand is soft and warm in yours, and when you look down at your intertwined fingers, at his chipped red nail polish, you still find yourself awash with flushed feelings, like you’re fifteen and wandering through the dark halls of the meteor all over again.

He grins at you, a bit nervous, and you give his hand a reassuring squeeze. You walk with him to the movie theater, hand in hand, thankfully not garnering very much attention so far. It could be the deviation from your usual attire, or maybe people who recognize you have the good sense to leave you the fuck alone when you’re obviously on a date for once.

You hold the door open for Dave when you walk inside, footsteps muffled by red carpet and nocturnal eyes adjusting to the pleasantly dark interior. An olive blood troll stands at the ticket stand, looking at the two of you expectantly.

“So what kinda garbage do you think we should subject ourselves to today?” Dave asks, standing nonchalantly behind the nonexistent line.

You make eye contact with the person working the counter, and they start wringing their hands. “Um, if I may make some suggestions…?”

Something throbs in your temple, because there’s no way that this poor person hasn’t recognized you. You feel a little bit of sympathy, because to them, the fucking Signless might as well have walked through the door.

You look over the list of movies on the sign above them, only recognizing a couple titles from previews on TV, and man, it’s really been a while since you’ve been to one of these things, what with work and the previous few months’ various holidays.

“I can barely read this shit,” Dave murmurs next to you. “I mean, I can pick out the letters but none of these even look like words.”

The olive blood perks up, then. “Oh, we offer human translations,” they say, fishing out a piece of paper from behind the counter and holding it out towards Dave with shaky hands.

He takes it and looks it over. “Dude, there’s a movie called Knights in Two Dreams, what do you wanna bet that’s another factually inaccurate retelling of us on the meteor?”

“Haven’t we already seen that one?” you ask, moving closer to look at the list with him. The titles are all listed in English, with a few other human languages translated in small text beneath them. “The title sounds really familiar.”

“There’s one called Love in Deep Space, man, these are so cheesy.”

“Um, well,” the olive blood speaks up again. “If you’re not interested in Knights, then there’s You’re so Rad. That’s, erm, also about you…” They say the last bit uncertainly, as if there’s somehow a chance that they’ve got the wrong guys.

“That sounds like a fuckin’ romcom,” Dave says.

“It is a romcom…” they reply, a green blush rising on their cheeks.

You get tickets to that one, after insisting several times on actually paying for them. After that you buy overpriced popcorn and a large Coke from a very disgruntled violet teen working the stand, but whatever, it’s part of the movie-going experience.

Dave hands the tickets to a half-human half-troll employee and lets you captchalogue the stubs for safekeeping. After so many years on Earth C you really do have quite a collection of them at home. You hate the thought of losing them, even ones from a potentially shitty mid-morning show.

You enter the theater and find it pleasantly empty, heading up towards the back and picking seats for you and Dave right in the middle of the row.

“Should the fact that there ain’t no one else here tip us off to this being a not so great cinematic experience?”

You fit your drink in the cup holder between you, tearing the straw out of its paper prison and jamming it into the cup’s lid. “I’m sure it’s just the early showtime.”

Dave leans forward to take a drink of it before you can, and you throw a piece of popcorn in his hair while he laughs at you.

On the screen is still only just commercials, and you figure you still have a few minutes before the previews start up. You’re still the only ones here, so you don’t feel bad about letting Dave snapchat you flipping off the theater screen when it shows you a massive picture of Jake’s ass as an advertisement for his company. Nor do you feel bad when the previews start and Dave takes another snapchat of you being shown Jake’s ass a _second time_ when a preview of the 5000th installment of the Tomb Raider series comes up, of which he (and his _fucking ass_ ) is the star of. Because of course.

When the theater dims and the movie finally starts, you sit anxiously as you wait to see whatever terrible actors were picked to play you. The opening scene sets the premise of the film as taking place on the post-scratch Earth, but with less of a violent, war-waging Condy and more of a humans-and-trolls-coexisting kind of thing.

Dave is played by a guy who was overzealous about the “showing little emotion” thing people tend to presume from him as a historical figure, and generally looks sort of like him aside from the rock hard abs and sharp jawline. Sure, post-scratch Dave wasn’t the exact same person that you know and love, but you’ve seen pictures of him. Dave’s softness is transcendental.

The first thing that you notice about the guy playing you is that his blood is maroon, not candy red, which puts you off immediately. If they thought no one could tell, they were fucking wrong. The second thing you notice is that he’s a lot thinner than you are and of average height instead of your (admittedly) short stature, but whatever. You’ve had worse actors play you, like that time they had a fucking _cis woman_ in your role. You literally showed up on that director’s doorstep to give him an earful so savage that his auricular sponge clots are probably still ringing, and that was two years ago.

The two of you are little out of character, but your actors onscreen have decent chemistry. You find yourself analyzing them as you would any other couple in a movie, thinking of what quadrants, if any, they would fit into. The comedy parts of the movie are pretty damn stale though, unfortunately. You and Dave laugh harder at his actor tripping in a scene that wasn’t even really meant to be funny, nearly choking on the movie theater popcorn.

“Oh hey, I just remembered,” you say, and decaptchalogue the box of chocolates you’ve been meaning to give him. “Here.”

“Karkat,” he says, scandalized. “That’s so fucking illegal, dude.” He starts to unwrap the red ribbon tied around it. “I’m gonna rat you out to the movie police, first thing when we get out of here, I swear to god.”

You roll your eyes as he plucks out a heart shaped chocolate and pops it into his mouth, taking one of the dark pieces for yourself when he offers the box back to you.

The rest of the movie follows a pretty typical plot; you meet each other at a coffee shop, there’s a lot of interpersonal cultural differences that are joked about, you start out hating Dave but eventually come around, and you kiss after resolving some kind of misunderstanding. It’s not the _best_ movie you’ve ever seen, but you’re having fun watching it, especially when you and Dave have the entire theater to yourself.

You make sure to hide the remaining chocolate back in your sylladex before leaving the theater, tossing the soda and empty bag of popcorn in the trash on your way out as the credits roll on screen, broadcasting the names of the crew to a nonexistent audience.

Dave listens to you ramble about your thoughts on the movie out loud, hooking an arm around your shoulder as you walk. The weight and warmth of him against you is a steady comfort as you feel your anxiety edge in when you leave, the bright, cool sunlight and open space outside setting something off in your nerves.

You think maybe Dave noticed something, because he starts leading you into a nearby ice cream shop, saying that it “wouldn’t be Valentine’s Day if you didn’t celebrate your inter-species relationship by ordering an unholy fusion of human-troll cuisine in the form of candied ants on frozen cattle tit juice,” and doesn’t listen when you try to say that you’re pretty sure that tit juice is the opposite of romantic.

You share a table with him near one of the windows, after piling what was once vanilla ice cream with as many grubby toppings as you could, just to see how far you could go before Dave refused to eat it. He takes a brave bite, but is actually pleasantly surprised, and you give him the most smug “I told you so” look as you share the rest.

There’s something remarkably romantic, in a multi-quadrant sense, about sharing your food with another person. It’s an intimate sharing of resources that you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of, whether it’s Dave letting you pluck something off his plate, or drinking from the same cup, or letting Dave try a bite of your grubsteak sandwich. Kind of gross, if you think about it too much, but a lot of stuff having to do with romance is, in your expert opinion, kind of gross.

You share a couple shy kisses in public before heading home, his lips soft and warm against yours. Your heart swells when you lean back and see the small smile on his face, the blush in his cheeks that you know you share. You feel a little less embarrassed on the flight home when he carries you, but that’s just because you’ve got a little bit of post-date sappiness going on right now.

Jade isn’t home when go to check in on her, so you head back into your own hive, a little relieved to not be out and about anymore. Dave starts making lunch, and you sit on the counter in the kitchen while he works. Cooking has never really been your thing, nor are you very good at it, but Dave always seems to enjoy doing it. To actually be using a kitchen for what it was meant for, to not have to hide food in his room, you’re not really sure, but you support him a hundred percent.

You sit out on the balcony as you eat, watching the wind push fluffy clouds past the sky. Dave says he wonders if John’s out there, stirring up trouble, and you marvel for a minute at how strange a lot of your existence is now.

Dave takes your hand in his, and for a long while you just sit in a comfortable, easy silence.

**Author's Note:**

> i drew fanart of them in their v-day outfits also: [[link]](http://ghostcrebs.tumblr.com/post/157261588589/the-valentines-oneshot-im-workin-on-is-gonna-be-a)


End file.
